Getting Dull.

The stars in the sky, how much they used to mean

to a little guy with big thoughts and even bigger dreams

who would fly high with thin socks and even lighter seams

and would just try to shoot hoops and cheer for smaller teams.

The moonbeams forayed into the depths of his heart

when his mind thought of pure things, like motion in art.

The rays of light shined upon a world undiscovered

as he gazed into the solitary world of another.

He lost himself, his identity, in the eyes of a friend

who brought him to the last chapter of a story, the end.

And so he moved on, grieving the loss of one ‘mongst many

The world’s a pretty dime, but he would have kept this little penny.

Then his mind changed, his surroundings just shifted

and alone he drifted, till one day he sifted

through the contents of his body, of his soul, of his spirit,

blowing through it all like sand, with no one else near it.

With slow acknowledgement, he found what knowledge meant,

discovering the purpose for which he was really sent:

A warfare raged on, and only he was well-prepared

to take the hard tasks on and quite well he did fare.

But somewhere along the way, he lost the living romance

The beauty of the moment, the seconds in a slow dance.

It all faded as his heart became silent on guard,

standing vigil, wary of the tales from many drunken bards.

A history of mystery, to himself he mainly kept

dwelling on a past mistake for which he would have wept.

But this bright soul, how dull did it actually become?

It did not even shimmer in the brightness of the sun.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed his fatal mistake away

staring at the mountains, through which he’d live his day.

Tumultuous at times, and rocky through and through

He tried to pray each moment, asking God what he should do.

He felt like losing hope, a thing which bears feathers

he felt like giving up, despite the storms that he did weather.

Yet in the depths of depths, the dreaded mire of gloom

The Master of his life did closely to him loom.

The Son shined down, and his life was made bright

giving him the strength to stand and persevere through the fight.

He gave him a love, and knew when to take away

before a mere human did his whole soul and spirit sway.

On that day, his favorite color became gray

A mix of pure white and the black in which he’d stay.

A metal with no luster, yet regaining a quick edge

As he retreated from the beck’ning grip of death’s ledge.

Giving praise to God, for it was all he felt

as he cried above and on solid earth he knelt.

Another thought on the topic, then no more

for the poor human being was once again poor.

The subtle flexing of his craft refreshed his mind anew

as his fingers spun the rhythms and the pictures his mind drew.

He remembered the color of life, vivid and vivacious

learning of the little things, like staying tenacious.

A spirit of fear was not granted, but one of courage given

providing him the motivation that kept him fully driven.

Pressing to the end, with his God fully in sight

Leading through the bleary night into the warming light.

He forgot what was wrong and left for what was right,

Living blind no more, for he regained his sight.

Forgetting the future, forgiving the past;

the young man found his peace at last.


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